Make Art, Not War

Sunday, March 27, 2011

A to Z

I never wrote you a love song
but then, we were never in love.
It's a funny thing- to be sleeping with someone
or anyway, it was fun.

I never sent that last email
the one that went "yeah, I'm just ganna
hold my breath"
(but you get the idea).

I never told you the truth
though I was incredibly honest.
You praised me once for this
and it was the one compliment
I could accept.

Right up until I jumped ship
swam to shore- or better yet
swam to the depths again to remain
nameless among those other
fish in the sea.

It wasn't a proper goodbye but then,
it wasn't a proper introduction.

Friday, March 18, 2011

W hole

[note: this is not a new poem, it's actually from my teens at least. But I wanted to include it here because poetry is the sort of thing that you can always go back to and look at in different times in your life, and it will continue to be meaningful. Or anyway, that's what I thought when I came across this one.]

W hole

you were some vital organ
gone missing in those early
developmental stages and I
grew and grew accustomed to
the absence
unaware that the damage was to me
just a part of living

so that now I throw my worth down this hole
my whole life and my love
with no intentions of filling it
instead I stumble forward limbless
always looking behind me and wondering
how different things would be
if I had been complete

yes, still waiting to grow out of this
waiting for some correction of its injustice
while all the blame I could rightfully place
echoes all the way to the bottom
(it's the absence of you in me repeating)

Monday, March 7, 2011

My Block

All the dog walkers
porch smokers
those insane joggers
that you’ll see at
all hours

around the lakes
and no matter the weather
(which is what makes them seem crazy)
but then there’s me- on the same streets
and for similar reasons

All of the seasons
the regulars, the riff-raff
and the street bums
are a walking meditation
I have come to know them well

I circle back and start over
like this is the only way I know
how to think sometimes
My block is where the sidewalk ends
My head is where I’ve kept these things
that matter

I remember, I travel the distance
over and over
I have claimed it
It is my way home

I walk this block
like the back of my hand
with my headphones in
on auto-pilot
I like it

I live here

I love it here